


Phare

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Autism, Gen, Gore, Hannigram - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, canibalism, eventual hannigram
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "Fromage," Hannibal has a problem with the cleanly separated compartments of his life bleeding together. He leans on Will to help him through this troubling time.</p><p>Rating for future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through episode 1X07, "Fromage."
> 
> My thanks go out to tumblr user formosadragon for being an amazing editor and beta despite not watching Hannibal.

_There was a sharp crack as Hannibal jerked Franklin’s head to the right, cleanly breaking his neck and severing the spinal column. He wouldn’t suffer. He would not be tortured and killed by the man he called friend._

_He’d done it again, killed in the place where he was meant to heal. With this action he had cemented his fate. There was no way Tobias, Franklin's friend and Hannibal’s fellow serial killer, would allow him to live after killing his prey._

_“I was looking forward to that,” Tobias said with a frown._

_“I saved you the trouble,” Hannibal replied, keeping his expression carefully schooled._

_Tobias tossed his jacket to the side and let one end of a weighted piano string drop from his hand._

_Hannibal put up no fight as Tobias swung the chord at his unprotected neck. He had failed. He’d failed to protect Will from the psychopath in front of him. Will, his only friend, who probably lay in a pool of his own blood, killed because Hannibal had attempted to gift this killer to him. He had broken his vow to never cause the death of a patient again. This is what he deserved._

 

* * *

 

 

Hannibal woke all at once, the light scent of his laundry detergent was covered by the sharp smell of his own sweat. He’d been dreaming, though he could not remember of what.

He sat up with a groan, the aches of his fight the previous evening washing over him. Both Jack and Will had wanted him to go to the hospital. Now he thought that perhaps they were right. Although nothing was broken or permanently damaged, painkillers would not have gone amiss.

Hannibal rose from his bed and pulled his shirt over his head as he walked to the washroom. He looked at himself in the mirror after the lights had flashed on. His chest and arms were covered in mottled bruises; still fresh, black with blue at the edges. His lip and cheek were torn and held together by butterfly stitches. Both of his eyes were blackened. He looked like a man half dead.

He reached to touch the stitches on his cheek. When he caught sight of his hand in the mirror the image of Franklin’s face flashed in his mind, the sound of the snap of a breaking neck rang through his ears, and guilt roiled through his gut. He dropped his hands to the bathroom counter and leaned forward, breathing heavily.

Quick as a flash, he turned out the light. This morning he would bathe in what little light that filtered in through the bathroom window.

 

* * *

 

The door to Hannibal’s office opened silently at the touch of his gloved hand. He looked around the room curiously to see what the F.B.I. had taken and what the crime scene cleanup had left behind. Other than the removal of a rug and the statue of a stag, there was very little changed about the room.

Hannibal walked around the room, restoring it to rights and inspecting for damage. In addition to several scuffs on the floor that would need to be polished out, the third rung on the ladder leading to his library was cracked, and there was a deep gouge in his desk. When he lifted the small side table on which a statue of a stag had rested, he found a large chip in one corner. He would have to have someone in to take a look at his woodwork.

At 9:00 precisely, he opened the door to his waiting room.

“Mrs. Gutierrez, you may come in now.”

The middle aged woman with a minor anxiety disorder who was carrying on not one but three extramarital affairs looked up from the magazine she’d been paging through. Shock and concern washed over her face as she rushed to her feet. “Oh my gosh!” she exclaimed. “Doctor Lecter, are you okay?”

“I was attacked,” Hannibal replied stoically. “I assure you that it looks far worse than it is.” He allowed a small smile to play at the corner of his mouth, assuring her all was well. Stepping into his office, he pushed down the guilt and fear rising his his throat; guilt over killing a patient (even in mercy), fear that he would directly cause the death of another. “Please, won’t you come in?”

Through their session, Hannibal found himself distracted. His eyes were drawn to the empty table on which a statue once rested, to the bare patch of flooring where a carpet once lay. He kept his gloved hands resting in his lap, out of sight but never out of mind. Hands that had taken the life of someone who did not deserve death, of someone he would not, could not, eat.

The pieces of his life were bleeding together, the edges grew blurred. Murder and healing had no place together, yet he had killed in this room the previous night. Twice.

As the clock ticked over to 9:26, Hannibal rose from his seat. “Mrs. Gutierrez, I’m afraid I must apologize. I am not as recovered from yesterday evening as I had previously thought. I’m afraid that I must cut our session short and reschedule.” With some small grumbling, she agreed.

After rescheduling Mrs. Gutierrez’s appointment for later in the week and escorting her from the room, Hannibal made a few calls to cancel his appointment for the next two days. It was incredibly unprofessional, but he could not treat patients in his current state. He drove home, packed a garment bag and filled a small ice box, and left again.

As he rose his hand to knock at Will’s door he wondered if he would be welcome. He could only hope that Will saw their budding friendship in the same light he did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks go out to tumblr user formosadragon again for being an amazing editor, and to tumblr user yourmillygoat for making sure everything worked from the aspie point of view.

Will sat at his kitchen table with a towel wrapped around his bare shoulders. There was a cooling cup of coffee at his elbow. His hands toyed with a jig lure, its red feathers running through his fingertips. He’d begun making it a few weeks before and left it half finished. That morning, he had sat down to finish it only to find it already done.

He turned the lure over in his hands, looking closely at the work. Those were not his knots, he always tied off with a square knot whereas this was tied off with a rapala. He thought back, trying to remember who he had left alone in his living room since leaving off work. His first thought was of Alana. He quickly dismissed her, however, she was far too uncomfortable around him to complete one of his projects without his permission.

A knock at his door disturbed his thoughts. His dogs rushed to the door, but none barked. A proud smile toyed at the edges of his mouth as he rose from his seat. His bruised wrist brushed against the edge of the table as he stood, making him flinch hard enough that his towel fell to the floor.

Will crossed the room and opened the door. Hannibal stood on his front porch in a crisply pressed brown suit, with a garment bag slung over one arm and a small ice chest sitting by his feet. There were butterfly stitches and bruises marring his features.

“Hannibal,” Will said, blinking rapidly.

“Will,” Hannibal replied. “I find myself in need of a friend. May I come in?”

“Of course,” Will said, stepping back and opening the door fully.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said as he bent to pick up his ice chest. As he stepped over the threshold Winston let out a single bark.

“Hush,” Will ordered. Winston lay, rested his nose on his feet, whined, and gave Will an extremely apologetic look. “There’s coffee in the pot,” he said as he swung the door closed behind Hannibal. “I’m going to go cover myself, I’ll be right back.” He picked his towel up off the floor and walked to the stairs.

“If that makes you more comfortable,” Hannibal said, his accent lengthening his words. Will nodded to himself and rushed up the stairs.

Will dressed quickly and splashed his face with cool water. Looking in the mirror, he ran a hand over his bruised cheeks and considered shaving before deciding against it.

When Will walked down the stairs he saw Hannibal sitting on his couch with the dogs at his knees, jockeying for his attention. There was an expression of serene pleasure on his face as he rubbed the ears of whatever dog was nearest at hand. Will walked to the kitchen, where Hannibal’s bag hung from the back of a chair, poured out his cold cup of coffee and poured two fresh mugs. He handed one to Hannibal on the way to his armchair.

Hannibal took a sip of his coffee with a grimace. “Thank you, Will, it’s very good,” he lied.

“No, it’s really not,” Will laughed. “But it is caffeinated.”

“So it is,” Hannibal agreed with a chuckle.

Will smiled into his cup and took another sip. The coffee really was sub-par today, he couldn’t imagine how it must have tasted to Hannibal’s refined palate. “Not that I have any problem with you being here,” he began after a moment, “but why are you here?”

“Did I ever tell you why I stopped practicing medicine, Will?” Hannibal asked as he leaned to place his mug on a side table.

“I think you said something about losing a patient.” Will answered.

“Yes. I made a mistake and a patient didn’t make it.” He looked down at his hands, still gloved and laced loosely together in his lap. “Yesterday I made a mistake and directly caused the deaths of four men, two of whom were police officers and one who was a patient. I nearly caused your death as well.” He looked up from his hands and met Will’s gaze, his eyes wet with unspilled tears. “I feel no guilt over Tobias, he was a very bad man and I killed him in self defence. However, I do not know how to deal with causing the deaths of so many innocents and nearly causing the death of one of the few people I care for. I fear that I need someone, a friend, to lean on for a few days.”

Will raised a hand to his brow and leaned back in his seat.“You think that what happened yesterday was your fault?” he asked with a sigh.

“Yes, I do.”

“As far as I can tell, you did the right thing,” Will stated. “A patient told you something that gave you suspicions, and you told me without breaking confidentiality. If I had done things differently, taken Jack or more police officers with me, things might have turned out differently.” He took another sip of his coffee before nodding. “You can stay here for as long as you need.” Will didn’t know why Hannibal had chosen him to help him through this, he must have friends who were closer to him, but Will was not going to abandon him while he was hurting.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said plainly. He went back to petting the dogs, seemingly happy not to talk. Will drank his coffee and and watched him, wondering what Hannibal would need from him.

After about ten minutes, Hannibal rose to his feet. “I was thinking I might make us some lunch. I brought meat from my butcher.”

“Um, alright, but I don’t know how much I have that you’d be willing to work with,” Will said. “I know you’re careful about what you eat.”

“I will make do,” Hannibal stated with a small smile toying at the corners of mouth. “If need be I will go to your local greengrocer this afternoon.”

Will felt oddly domestic, with dogs at his feet and someone moving around the kitchen. Normally it felt like an invasion for someone, anyone, to be in his home. This time, for the first time he could remember, he felt almost comfortable around another person. It was nice.


End file.
